Fuck Like A Kennedy
Feb. 15th, 2011 03:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ofvanity The second of which is porn! :O!
Title: Fuck Like A Kennedy
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ofvanity
Pairings: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 2500~
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Underage sex. In a classroom.
Disclaimers: I claim no ownership of the bountiful Inception kingdom nor of it's beautiful rulers, (i.e., King Nolan, Prince Arthur, etc, etc.). I am merely a peasant.
Author's Note: This is based off a dreameverhaunting had and then I felt compelled to write for some ungodly, sinful deliciousness reason. Did aynyone beta this? Don't think so.
Summary: Eames is a schoolboy, Arthur is a teacher. Consensual underage sex ensues.
Eames can’t remember when it started but it never takes him more than a few seconds with a hand down his pants to remember why. In his room with his jeans pushed down around his knees, cock flush against his fingers, he’s only thinking about one thing. Or, one person, to be specific. His history teacher.
The way his ears flush when the girls in the back giggle, the way his thimble fingers scan paper when he reads. The power in the deep timbre of his voice. The way his brow would crease if he were slamming his head back into a pillow. The way his hips would arch if he were pounding Eames. The goddamn smirk he gets he’s grading a good paper. How Eames could turn that smirk and those dimples into a leer. How Eames could fuck his fingers into his mouth and press their spit in winding patterns on his neck.
The thoughts and fantastic little noise he could make, the skin that would burn for days. “Goddamn,” Eames breathes into the base of his palm, pressed into his mouth to keep him quiet.
His parents are asleep in the room down the hall and fuck him, they’re light sleepers.
Eames pushes his clenching cheeks into the bed, stroking faster and letting small sighs escape his mouth. But what does it isn’t the pad of his course thumb flattening on his head and spreading precome. It isn't the way his thighs shake in preamble. It’s not the thought that he could literately get caught any minute and god, that would be mortifying.
It’s the memory of his teacher, calling his name for the third time that day and scolding him. It’s the memory of the way his hips shook as he walked back to the board. It’s the way the chalk scratched mercilessly in his name. It’s the memory that tomorrow, Eames has detention.
“Fuck, nngh. Yes, sir.”
-
When the bell rings, Eames tries his hardest not to tremble. He’s been shaking with need for seven periods, roughly six hours and and one of those hours was just as bad as water-boarding. That hour right before lunch that Eames kept his hand pressed into his crotch, looking as idle as possible every time he was called for an answer.
And as many times Eames resisted the urge to just stroke himself a little further. Just a little flick of his wrist and stain the front end of his khaki pants. But goddamn, it was the worst when he walked up behind Eames and put a hand on his shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, Eames sees the sweet knuckles of his fingers and nearly reaches out to pull them in his mouth. His palm pushes deeper against his dick, suppressing the tent it aches to make in his lap.
He looks up at his teacher, raising an eyebrow. Staying idle. Idle with his heart threatening to burst out of his body through his dick. Idle. “Yes, sir?”
“Are you alright Mr. Eames? You look flustered.” Eames sees a glint of something mischievous in his dark eyes and smiles radiantly.
“I’m brilliant, just a little out of breath from gym. Please, continue the lesson.”
He raises an eyebrow at Eames but doesn’t continue the conversation. He sways his way back to the front of the room, the grey slacks he’s wearing hug every curve of his taut, firm--Eames put his head down and bites his tongue until he bleeds.
The class ends and Eames is leaving when he hears his name. He turns and see his teacher, sitting on the desk, wiping his hands from the chalk. “Don’t forget you have a detention today.”
Eames shakes his head, “No, sir.”
Then he runs to the nearest bathroom and rubs himself raw. He skips lunch and his stomach growls for the rest of the day but there’s less pressure in his shoulders and that helps just a little. Eames trudges through the rest of his classes and when the last bell rings, he tries not to tremble with need. He sits at the end farthest from the teacher and crosses his legs hopelessly.
The teacher watches him enter and raises an eyebrow when he sits down. “Mr. Eames, don’t be ridiculous. I don’t bite. Sit over here. We have to discuss your paper.”
“Yes, sir.”
The room is empty and he’s going to be late for Rugby if he has to stay any longer by arguing and if he’s late for rugby, the coach will tear him a new asshole and more orifices is the last thing Eames right now. But the room is empty, so there's very little left in Eames' shyness. He stands and crosses the room wordlessly, noting the shock on his teacher's face when he sits down in front of him.
His current condition is anything but inconspicuous and the flush that rushes to his neck is definitely worth that dark glint in his teacher’s eyes again. Eames drops his book bag on the floor and folds his hands on the desk. “What about my paper?”
His teacher--Arthur, Eames can see his ID tag from here--shakes off the glint and clears his throat. “Your paper. Right. It, uh, is awful.”
Eames laughs, white rivulets. “Tell me what you really think.”
Arthur doesn’t miss a beat. He riffles through his suitcase as he speaks. “I’m serious, Eames.” He removes a key from the case. “Your grammar is weak, your central themes lack support and coherency.” Arthur strides across the room and closes the door, locking it. He turns back to Eames, with that glint. “And don’t get me started on your spelling.”
Eames glances at Arthur and then at the door, “What are you doing?”
Arthur walks back to Eames and sits on his own desk, crossing his legs. “We need to talk.”
Eames grins, “I thought that’s what we were doing.”
Arthur scowls, “You know what I mean. You think I don’t notice the looks you’ve been giving me? The flustered way you twitch every time I say your name...? Eames.”
A wave of need pulses through Eames’ body, straight to dick, already hard in his lap. He raises a challenging eyebrow but before he can speak, Arthur stands before him and leans closer. “You think I don’t realize that you’ve been pumping away at yourself at night, wondering what it be like for the two of us to--well, I imagine you’ve already got all those scenarios thoroughly developed.”
Arthur’s voice is a deep growl now, in Eames’ ears. Eames’ hand twitches against his cock on it’s own behalf and he sighs delicately in the back of his throat. Arthur leans his forearms on Eames’ desk, pushing himself into Eames’ personal space. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed Mr. Eames. But I’m your teacher.”
Arthur stands suddenly and retreats behind his desk, talking loudly, “Which is precisely why this needs to stop. Not only is this illegal and immoral, but I’ll get fired and you’ll get expelled.” Arthur turns his eyes back to Eames, his gaze gone completely glacial. “Detention is over, you are free to go.”
Eames narrows his eyes viciously and glances down into his lap before deciding, what the hell. He stands and leans over Arthur’s desk, just as he had been a few moments ago. “Listen, pet.”
“Eames.”
Shivers run down his body again but he bites his lips to suppress them. Eames is pleased to see Arthur glance at his mouth. Eames thinks, “Bugger this.”
Arthur’s eye go wide in surprise as Eames rounds the desk and approaches him, hard-on leading the way. Which makes his intentions pretty clear. “Eames,” Arthur warns.
Eames grins ruthlessly and grabs Arthur by his lapels and slams him against the chalkboard, smashing their mouths together. Eames presses his lips firmly against Arthur’s fighting for dominance. Luckily the surprise means Arthur’s jaw goes slack before he can think. Eames sees his opening and takes it, slipping his tongue in and pushing against Arthur’s. Arthur moans into his mouth and opens himself further. Eames slips his tongue to trace the ridges on the roof of his mouth, flicking gently. Arthur rubs his own tongue against Eames’, already dizzy without space to breath.
Eames uses his tongue to distract from his legs. He pushes a knee between Arthur’s legs and grinds on him persistently. Arthur is already half-hard underneath him and Eames reckons he will soon change that. That is, until Arthur snakes a hand on his sternum and pushes him back so hard that Eames hits the desk, almost falling over.
“What was that all about?”
Arthur glares at Eames, “You’re getting my sweater dirty on the chalkboard.”
Eames rolls his eyes and jumps off the desk, launching himself on Arthur again. Arthur stops him, “Wait, wait, wait, goddamn. Wait.” He scolds Eames and lifts the sweater vest over his head, tossing it on the back of the chair.
Eames grins and pulls Arthur back in by his tie, unraveling it in his fingers. Arthur pushes Eames back against the desk, pulling out the tucked in tails of his shirt. Freeing the white button up, Arthur trails his fingers over the taut muscles of Eames’ stomach, scratching his hipbones. Eames bucks into his hand, aching for more friction.
He tugs off Arthur’s shirt and throws it over the desk chair while Arthur swipes his tongue on the inside of Eames’ ear, pushing in with hot breaths. Eames is moaning and grinding against him, desperate and eager. Arthur pulls down Eames’ trousers and palms his rock hard dick through his boxers. Eames fights every instinct not to rut then and there.
Instead, he grins maliciously and takes one Arthur’s nipples in his mouth, biting dangerously and pressing his tongue flat over the wound to soothe it. Arthur grunts from somewhere deep in his chest, one hand reaching up into Eames’ hair. Eames flicks his tongue over the nipple and hums around it, Arthur bucking wildly into his hips.
Eames sucks a dark spot on the underside of his pectoral, hollowing his hungry cheeks. His hand grip Arthur’s hips, keeping him in place. Arthur’s hand leaves its place on his dick to pull Eames up by his neck and catches his lips again, tonguing his mouth playfully. Eames kisses back as he fingers the fly of Arthur’s trousers. Letting them drop, Eames finds Arthur pleasantly hard against his palm.
Arthur slaps his hand away, wrapping his arms around Eames’ waist, he grinds down against him, both of them leaking precome through the thin fabric of their boxers. Eames’ ass is pressed against the harsh wood of the desk and Arthur grips it and pulls him closer. Eames can’t suppress the whine that passes through his lips. Arthur laughs, breathing wet into his ear, “How do you want it?”
Eames bucks his hips into Arthur’s pressing frantically. “Fuck me. Please, sir.”
Arthur moans, tugging Eames' earlobe between his teeth and sucking loudly. Eames bites his lip, groaning deeply. Arthur pulls back suddenly and turns Eames around, bending him over the desk. Pulling down his boxers, Arthur traces the curve of Eames’ ass, fondling his balls. Eames rests on his forearm, pressing his forehead on the desk, breathing in hitched gasps.
Arthur pulls down his own boxers and strokes himself, slow and deliberate. He’s aching hard and wants nothing more than to give it to Eames but he couldn’t help himself. Eames pushes his hips back into Arthur’s hand, whining. Arthur chuckles, low and dry and steadies himself with a hand on Eames’ hips. “Aren’t you going to stretch me?”
Arthur laughs, biting skin on Eames’ back then sucking on the bones in the curve of his spine. “I would, Mr. Eames, but something tells me that you’ve been wet and open for hours, just waiting for me to fuck you.”
Eames bites his lip, but goddamn, there was a reason he had skipped lunch.
Arthur pushes himself into Eames and finds he was right. He moves slowly, fucking Eames shallowly at first, laughing. Arthur bends over the desk to whisper in Eames’ ear, “How long have you been thinking about this? How long were you in the bathroom today, getting off on me?”
Eames growls and pushes himself back against Arthur, filling himself completely. Arthur doesn’t gasp, he inhales sharply and grips Eames’ hips. Eames is tight and hot around him, distracting Arthur from his objective. He pulls out and then shoves himself back in, tortuously slow.
Eames won’t stand for it. He pushes back against Arthur. “Harder. This is a fucking--ohh.”
Arthur decides to fuck it all, starting most aptly with Eames. Arthur slams into him, quick and hard and is rapidly rewarded with Eames’ moaning his name in quick pants. The pressure starts pulling tight in his belly and his shoulders. He looses track of how hard he’s pumping into Eames, he’s so very close.
Arthur grits his teeth and pushes Eames against the desk, harder. Eames is moaning and begging for it, “Please, fuck, uhh.”
Remembering himself for a second, Arthur snakes a trembling arm to help Eames jerk himself off, squeezing with the power of his thrusts, pressing his thumb into the head. Eames is grunting sharply against him and it’s not long before he comes across his stomach, the desk and Arthur’s hands. He clenches down sharply around Arthur. Arthur growls and pushes further against him, thighs shaking in anticipation.
He pumps into Eames through his climax, pulling anxiously at Eames’ hips and emptying into him. Arthur rolls his hips a few times, giving into the exhaustion that immediately follows.
He pulls away from Eames and watches as he goes slack, leaning against the desk for support. Arthur pulls his pants up and drops into the chair that holds most of his clothes. He pulls his undershirt on, but only to combat the cold. Eames collects himself for a minute and pulls his own clothes up. He jumps onto the desk and lays on his back, breathing rapidly.
Arthur watches his firm chest rise and fall sharply, almost mesmerized before he makes a decision. His breath is catching up to him and he realizes what it would have meant if someone walked in on them. Arthur shrugs on his shirt and buttons it, pulling the sweater over as well.
Eames watches him out of the corner of his eye, breathing at a much more normal pace. “What’re you doing?”
Arthur pulls his briefcase up and drapes his tie over his neck. “That was a mistake.”
Eames pulls a sour face, masking actual panic with sarcasm, “Tell me what you really think.”
Arthur laughs, dry and short. He stands before Eames on the desk and grips the desk as he bends over him. He dips his tongue into Eames’ bellybutton leaving wet trails. From his position, he looks up at Eames through his eyelashes. “I merely meant that my apartment is much more comfortable. If you’d like.”
Eames raises an eyebrow but doesn’t object to pulling his clothes on as fast as possible and following Arthur out of the room. He’d like it very much, sir.
Title: Fuck Like A Kennedy
Author:
ofvanity Pairings: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 2500~
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Underage sex. In a classroom.
Disclaimers: I claim no ownership of the bountiful Inception kingdom nor of it's beautiful rulers, (i.e., King Nolan, Prince Arthur, etc, etc.). I am merely a peasant.
Author's Note: This is based off a dream
everhaunting had and then I felt compelled to write for some ungodly, sinful Summary: Eames is a schoolboy, Arthur is a teacher. Consensual underage sex ensues.
Eames can’t remember when it started but it never takes him more than a few seconds with a hand down his pants to remember why. In his room with his jeans pushed down around his knees, cock flush against his fingers, he’s only thinking about one thing. Or, one person, to be specific. His history teacher.
The way his ears flush when the girls in the back giggle, the way his thimble fingers scan paper when he reads. The power in the deep timbre of his voice. The way his brow would crease if he were slamming his head back into a pillow. The way his hips would arch if he were pounding Eames. The goddamn smirk he gets he’s grading a good paper. How Eames could turn that smirk and those dimples into a leer. How Eames could fuck his fingers into his mouth and press their spit in winding patterns on his neck.
The thoughts and fantastic little noise he could make, the skin that would burn for days. “Goddamn,” Eames breathes into the base of his palm, pressed into his mouth to keep him quiet.
His parents are asleep in the room down the hall and fuck him, they’re light sleepers.
Eames pushes his clenching cheeks into the bed, stroking faster and letting small sighs escape his mouth. But what does it isn’t the pad of his course thumb flattening on his head and spreading precome. It isn't the way his thighs shake in preamble. It’s not the thought that he could literately get caught any minute and god, that would be mortifying.
It’s the memory of his teacher, calling his name for the third time that day and scolding him. It’s the memory of the way his hips shook as he walked back to the board. It’s the way the chalk scratched mercilessly in his name. It’s the memory that tomorrow, Eames has detention.
“Fuck, nngh. Yes, sir.”
-
When the bell rings, Eames tries his hardest not to tremble. He’s been shaking with need for seven periods, roughly six hours and and one of those hours was just as bad as water-boarding. That hour right before lunch that Eames kept his hand pressed into his crotch, looking as idle as possible every time he was called for an answer.
And as many times Eames resisted the urge to just stroke himself a little further. Just a little flick of his wrist and stain the front end of his khaki pants. But goddamn, it was the worst when he walked up behind Eames and put a hand on his shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, Eames sees the sweet knuckles of his fingers and nearly reaches out to pull them in his mouth. His palm pushes deeper against his dick, suppressing the tent it aches to make in his lap.
He looks up at his teacher, raising an eyebrow. Staying idle. Idle with his heart threatening to burst out of his body through his dick. Idle. “Yes, sir?”
“Are you alright Mr. Eames? You look flustered.” Eames sees a glint of something mischievous in his dark eyes and smiles radiantly.
“I’m brilliant, just a little out of breath from gym. Please, continue the lesson.”
He raises an eyebrow at Eames but doesn’t continue the conversation. He sways his way back to the front of the room, the grey slacks he’s wearing hug every curve of his taut, firm--Eames put his head down and bites his tongue until he bleeds.
The class ends and Eames is leaving when he hears his name. He turns and see his teacher, sitting on the desk, wiping his hands from the chalk. “Don’t forget you have a detention today.”
Eames shakes his head, “No, sir.”
Then he runs to the nearest bathroom and rubs himself raw. He skips lunch and his stomach growls for the rest of the day but there’s less pressure in his shoulders and that helps just a little. Eames trudges through the rest of his classes and when the last bell rings, he tries not to tremble with need. He sits at the end farthest from the teacher and crosses his legs hopelessly.
The teacher watches him enter and raises an eyebrow when he sits down. “Mr. Eames, don’t be ridiculous. I don’t bite. Sit over here. We have to discuss your paper.”
“Yes, sir.”
The room is empty and he’s going to be late for Rugby if he has to stay any longer by arguing and if he’s late for rugby, the coach will tear him a new asshole and more orifices is the last thing Eames right now. But the room is empty, so there's very little left in Eames' shyness. He stands and crosses the room wordlessly, noting the shock on his teacher's face when he sits down in front of him.
His current condition is anything but inconspicuous and the flush that rushes to his neck is definitely worth that dark glint in his teacher’s eyes again. Eames drops his book bag on the floor and folds his hands on the desk. “What about my paper?”
His teacher--Arthur, Eames can see his ID tag from here--shakes off the glint and clears his throat. “Your paper. Right. It, uh, is awful.”
Eames laughs, white rivulets. “Tell me what you really think.”
Arthur doesn’t miss a beat. He riffles through his suitcase as he speaks. “I’m serious, Eames.” He removes a key from the case. “Your grammar is weak, your central themes lack support and coherency.” Arthur strides across the room and closes the door, locking it. He turns back to Eames, with that glint. “And don’t get me started on your spelling.”
Eames glances at Arthur and then at the door, “What are you doing?”
Arthur walks back to Eames and sits on his own desk, crossing his legs. “We need to talk.”
Eames grins, “I thought that’s what we were doing.”
Arthur scowls, “You know what I mean. You think I don’t notice the looks you’ve been giving me? The flustered way you twitch every time I say your name...? Eames.”
A wave of need pulses through Eames’ body, straight to dick, already hard in his lap. He raises a challenging eyebrow but before he can speak, Arthur stands before him and leans closer. “You think I don’t realize that you’ve been pumping away at yourself at night, wondering what it be like for the two of us to--well, I imagine you’ve already got all those scenarios thoroughly developed.”
Arthur’s voice is a deep growl now, in Eames’ ears. Eames’ hand twitches against his cock on it’s own behalf and he sighs delicately in the back of his throat. Arthur leans his forearms on Eames’ desk, pushing himself into Eames’ personal space. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed Mr. Eames. But I’m your teacher.”
Arthur stands suddenly and retreats behind his desk, talking loudly, “Which is precisely why this needs to stop. Not only is this illegal and immoral, but I’ll get fired and you’ll get expelled.” Arthur turns his eyes back to Eames, his gaze gone completely glacial. “Detention is over, you are free to go.”
Eames narrows his eyes viciously and glances down into his lap before deciding, what the hell. He stands and leans over Arthur’s desk, just as he had been a few moments ago. “Listen, pet.”
“Eames.”
Shivers run down his body again but he bites his lips to suppress them. Eames is pleased to see Arthur glance at his mouth. Eames thinks, “Bugger this.”
Arthur’s eye go wide in surprise as Eames rounds the desk and approaches him, hard-on leading the way. Which makes his intentions pretty clear. “Eames,” Arthur warns.
Eames grins ruthlessly and grabs Arthur by his lapels and slams him against the chalkboard, smashing their mouths together. Eames presses his lips firmly against Arthur’s fighting for dominance. Luckily the surprise means Arthur’s jaw goes slack before he can think. Eames sees his opening and takes it, slipping his tongue in and pushing against Arthur’s. Arthur moans into his mouth and opens himself further. Eames slips his tongue to trace the ridges on the roof of his mouth, flicking gently. Arthur rubs his own tongue against Eames’, already dizzy without space to breath.
Eames uses his tongue to distract from his legs. He pushes a knee between Arthur’s legs and grinds on him persistently. Arthur is already half-hard underneath him and Eames reckons he will soon change that. That is, until Arthur snakes a hand on his sternum and pushes him back so hard that Eames hits the desk, almost falling over.
“What was that all about?”
Arthur glares at Eames, “You’re getting my sweater dirty on the chalkboard.”
Eames rolls his eyes and jumps off the desk, launching himself on Arthur again. Arthur stops him, “Wait, wait, wait, goddamn. Wait.” He scolds Eames and lifts the sweater vest over his head, tossing it on the back of the chair.
Eames grins and pulls Arthur back in by his tie, unraveling it in his fingers. Arthur pushes Eames back against the desk, pulling out the tucked in tails of his shirt. Freeing the white button up, Arthur trails his fingers over the taut muscles of Eames’ stomach, scratching his hipbones. Eames bucks into his hand, aching for more friction.
He tugs off Arthur’s shirt and throws it over the desk chair while Arthur swipes his tongue on the inside of Eames’ ear, pushing in with hot breaths. Eames is moaning and grinding against him, desperate and eager. Arthur pulls down Eames’ trousers and palms his rock hard dick through his boxers. Eames fights every instinct not to rut then and there.
Instead, he grins maliciously and takes one Arthur’s nipples in his mouth, biting dangerously and pressing his tongue flat over the wound to soothe it. Arthur grunts from somewhere deep in his chest, one hand reaching up into Eames’ hair. Eames flicks his tongue over the nipple and hums around it, Arthur bucking wildly into his hips.
Eames sucks a dark spot on the underside of his pectoral, hollowing his hungry cheeks. His hand grip Arthur’s hips, keeping him in place. Arthur’s hand leaves its place on his dick to pull Eames up by his neck and catches his lips again, tonguing his mouth playfully. Eames kisses back as he fingers the fly of Arthur’s trousers. Letting them drop, Eames finds Arthur pleasantly hard against his palm.
Arthur slaps his hand away, wrapping his arms around Eames’ waist, he grinds down against him, both of them leaking precome through the thin fabric of their boxers. Eames’ ass is pressed against the harsh wood of the desk and Arthur grips it and pulls him closer. Eames can’t suppress the whine that passes through his lips. Arthur laughs, breathing wet into his ear, “How do you want it?”
Eames bucks his hips into Arthur’s pressing frantically. “Fuck me. Please, sir.”
Arthur moans, tugging Eames' earlobe between his teeth and sucking loudly. Eames bites his lip, groaning deeply. Arthur pulls back suddenly and turns Eames around, bending him over the desk. Pulling down his boxers, Arthur traces the curve of Eames’ ass, fondling his balls. Eames rests on his forearm, pressing his forehead on the desk, breathing in hitched gasps.
Arthur pulls down his own boxers and strokes himself, slow and deliberate. He’s aching hard and wants nothing more than to give it to Eames but he couldn’t help himself. Eames pushes his hips back into Arthur’s hand, whining. Arthur chuckles, low and dry and steadies himself with a hand on Eames’ hips. “Aren’t you going to stretch me?”
Arthur laughs, biting skin on Eames’ back then sucking on the bones in the curve of his spine. “I would, Mr. Eames, but something tells me that you’ve been wet and open for hours, just waiting for me to fuck you.”
Eames bites his lip, but goddamn, there was a reason he had skipped lunch.
Arthur pushes himself into Eames and finds he was right. He moves slowly, fucking Eames shallowly at first, laughing. Arthur bends over the desk to whisper in Eames’ ear, “How long have you been thinking about this? How long were you in the bathroom today, getting off on me?”
Eames growls and pushes himself back against Arthur, filling himself completely. Arthur doesn’t gasp, he inhales sharply and grips Eames’ hips. Eames is tight and hot around him, distracting Arthur from his objective. He pulls out and then shoves himself back in, tortuously slow.
Eames won’t stand for it. He pushes back against Arthur. “Harder. This is a fucking--ohh.”
Arthur decides to fuck it all, starting most aptly with Eames. Arthur slams into him, quick and hard and is rapidly rewarded with Eames’ moaning his name in quick pants. The pressure starts pulling tight in his belly and his shoulders. He looses track of how hard he’s pumping into Eames, he’s so very close.
Arthur grits his teeth and pushes Eames against the desk, harder. Eames is moaning and begging for it, “Please, fuck, uhh.”
Remembering himself for a second, Arthur snakes a trembling arm to help Eames jerk himself off, squeezing with the power of his thrusts, pressing his thumb into the head. Eames is grunting sharply against him and it’s not long before he comes across his stomach, the desk and Arthur’s hands. He clenches down sharply around Arthur. Arthur growls and pushes further against him, thighs shaking in anticipation.
He pumps into Eames through his climax, pulling anxiously at Eames’ hips and emptying into him. Arthur rolls his hips a few times, giving into the exhaustion that immediately follows.
He pulls away from Eames and watches as he goes slack, leaning against the desk for support. Arthur pulls his pants up and drops into the chair that holds most of his clothes. He pulls his undershirt on, but only to combat the cold. Eames collects himself for a minute and pulls his own clothes up. He jumps onto the desk and lays on his back, breathing rapidly.
Arthur watches his firm chest rise and fall sharply, almost mesmerized before he makes a decision. His breath is catching up to him and he realizes what it would have meant if someone walked in on them. Arthur shrugs on his shirt and buttons it, pulling the sweater over as well.
Eames watches him out of the corner of his eye, breathing at a much more normal pace. “What’re you doing?”
Arthur pulls his briefcase up and drapes his tie over his neck. “That was a mistake.”
Eames pulls a sour face, masking actual panic with sarcasm, “Tell me what you really think.”
Arthur laughs, dry and short. He stands before Eames on the desk and grips the desk as he bends over him. He dips his tongue into Eames’ bellybutton leaving wet trails. From his position, he looks up at Eames through his eyelashes. “I merely meant that my apartment is much more comfortable. If you’d like.”
Eames raises an eyebrow but doesn’t object to pulling his clothes on as fast as possible and following Arthur out of the room. He’d like it very much, sir.
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Date: 2011-02-19 01:44 am (UTC)